


My head's filling up so fast with the wicked games

by heavenisalibrary



Series: We're the kids your momma warned you about [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More HS AU drabbles from tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You want me to do what?” John says, pacing toward her and wagging a finger at her. River rolls her eyes. “Because certainly I misheard you the first time — there is no way you said what I thought you said. So, one more time, nice and clear now, River, you want me to do what?”

"Can you pretty please impersonate a substitute teacher and take over my detention so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Robinson’s revolting attempts at flirting with minors?"

"You’ve lost the plot," he says. "I always knew it would happen eventually, but I thought you’d at least make it to senior year."

"John, really, it’s not that big of a deal," she says. They’re in the hallway after school, and she’s due to detention in the next five minutes. He swallows as she walks toward him, backing up until he hits the lockers behind him with a graceless clatter and peering down at her where she presses herself against him. Arguing with River is impossible and she’s a horrible cheater, he thinks.

"It is,” John says. “I’m not getting expelled because you can’t be bothered to do your time.

She laughs. “You’re not going to get expelled. You’re not even going to get caught. Mr. Robinson doesn’t know you — he only commits the girls to memory, even if he had met you before — and you’re dressed like an idiot professor anyway. Might as well give it a go, yeah?”

“No,” he says, “you have this incredible talent for phrasing totally mad things in a completely reasonable way in a completely calm tone of voice, and it’s not going to work this time.”

She leans even closer to him, and he’s briefly worried that someone might see — after a rather lengthy list of public indecency infractions, some of the teachers are a bit sensitive about how close River and John stand — but of course she’s River and he can’t do anything but look back at her and gulp as she leans up on her tip-toes and presses a quick kiss to his lips. It’s a glancing, barely there brush of her lips against his, and when she pulls back she doesn’t move, just stays so close to his face that he can see the freckles of green and gold in her eyes, her breath warm and sweet against his mouth. She brushes a hand against the side of his face, wrapping it around so that she can scrape her fingernails gently against the nape of his neck in that way that makes him want to melt, and kisses him briefly, chastely, again.

He leans back toward her this time, but she pulls back, a smirk curving the corner of her lips. When she leans back in, she presses a leg between his, and he takes a sharp intake of breath as she gives him another glancing kiss, shifting her weight and applying more pressure with her leg.

He wraps his arms around her waist to keep her close this time, following her lips as she pulls away, but she merely leans back even more, her smirk growing even wider. She leans back in and places an open-mouthed kiss against the side of his neck, and he bites back a whimper, holding her closer still and hoping desperately that no one comes down the hall and forces him to try and defend his actions while simultaneously trying to hide an erection.

"You’re not going to convince me," he murmurs, and she kisses his neck again, shifting her leg more firmly against him and rolling her hips beneath his hands. She kisses him again, and this time his grip is bruising as he tries to hold her to him and move beyond her maddening, teasing kisses, but she just leans back.

"Oh, honey," she says with a grin, and he knows he’s doomed when he realizes that he’s staring at her mouth and leaning toward her like a charmed snake. “I already have.”

She expertly slips out of his grasp and disappears down the hall to detention, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder. He sighs, realizing he’s already thinking about changing into the spare bow tie he has in his locker because it’s a bit more professional.

"I hate you," he grumbles, turning away, tugging on his trousers a bit, and walking a bit awkwardly toward his locket.

"You don’t!" she calls back down the hallway.

Of course she heard. He wants to be mad about her apparent omnipotence, but all her can muster is a giddy rush of affection for his delightfully termagant girlfriend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: hs au, someone tries to start a (physical) fight with john. river intervenes.

He hadn’t meant to start a fight. He really hadn’t. Violence isn’t really in his nature — or at least he always thought — and it takes a lot to make him angry. But he’d been in the locker room after phys ed, and the other boys had started talking about the girls in their school. Their conversation had riled him to begin with — the way they spoke about the girls they supposedly cared for or were interested in wasn’t exactly couth, and so as he changed his clothes he’d felt caught uncomfortable between awkward embarrassment at their explicit terms — honestly, he wasn’t a virgin anymore, but still — and irritation at the callous and even cruel way they spoke. He tugged on his collar, fully dressed, and following the group of guys out of the locker room when suddenly they weren’t talking about girls, generally, but River, specifically.

 

That was enough to change his irritation into anger. He knew he was hardly well-known throughout their high school — at least not personally. People recognized him because he was so often with River, and they all knew her. And even though he and River weren’t particularly talented at abstaining from public displays of affection, it didn’t seem to be common knowledge that they were actually together. He supposed he didn’t blame them; River had a track record for chewing her dates up and spitting them out again when she grew bored, so he imagined it would be strange for them to adjust to the idea that she was — hopefully — going to be with John for a long time to come.

But these boys were intentionally trying to rile him. He could tell by the quick glances they shot him over their shoulders as they talked that they knew. John held his tongue, though. He clenched his fists at his sides, gritted his jaw, tried to keep his face looking anything but murderous as they talked about River as though she weren’t even a real person that they all knew — they talked about her in pieces. Her legs, her ass, her tits, her hair, her smirk. They broke her down into words, detailing the finer parts, and then detailed what they’d do with the broken-down, easy-to-swallow River of their imaginings. A couple of them even gave quick accounts of previous experiences they’d had with River — and that didn’t both John generally, he knew River had dated many people before him, and he wasn’t jealous of the past — but the way they talked about her made his blood boil. When one of them launched into a particularly galling fantasy of forcing her to her knees and making her —

He didn’t even realize he’d moved, but suddenly he was holding the boy by the collar of his t-shirt, pressing him up against the nearest wall and standing so close that he could feel the boy’s heartbeat double.

“What the hell?”

“You have no right to say these things,” John said. “She isn’t some — some — fantasy, or —”

“She’s fucking hot, mate,” the boy said, shoving John back a bit. John stumbled slightly, releasing the boy’s t-shirt. He felt awkward, and silly, but his blood felt like lava in his veins and he just wanted to wipe the smug look off of the other boy’s face. “Every guy’s entitled to a fantasy.”

“The way you speak about her is disgusting,” John said, “and you’re not bloody entitled to anything.”

“What are you, her keeper?” the boy said, then laughed, stepping forward and shoving John again. “Why don’t you go mind your own business, hm? This is cute and all, but you’re out of your league. Sort of like River, eh? Out of your league, too. I’m sure she’d like a real man — I’m sure she’d take it like a champ, too —”

John didn’t even consciously think about doing it. But suddenly his fist was colliding with the boy’s jaw. Unfortunately, John had all the strength of a limp noodle and wasn’t even remotely practiced in any kind of fisticuffs to begin with, and so the boy merely stumbled, grabbing the side of his face and looking shocked — but that expression quickly morphed into rage, and John stepped back as the boy stepped toward him, shoving John again, this time hard enough to knock him to the floor.

The boy immediately followed John down, and then he sort of lost track — the boy punched him, square in the jaw, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than whatever John had done must have. He hit him a few more times, and John tried to push him off or crawl away but couldn’t manage, and he was beginning to feel a bit dazed, the pain fading and giving way to a general sense of disembodiment when suddenly the boy was bowled over by a sound punch to the side of his face. John gasped, looking up to see River standing over him, and then stepping over him to grab the boy by the collar and improbably drag him to his feet. She held his face close to hers, and her face was furious as she backed the boy into the nearest wall. River was strong, John knew, but the boy was twice her size — it was, perhaps, the sheer power of her reputation and the thunderous look on her face that gave her any leverage at all.

“You touch him again,” River said, “and I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”

The crowd that had gathered around them immediately dispersed, and John sat up, watching — a bit awed — as the boy high-tailed it in the other direction. River turned to help him up, and he leaned heavily on her as he went to stand.

“Are you alright?” she asked, helping him to the wall so he could lean against it. She reached up to touch his face, and he winced — no doubt he already had a black eye.

“I’m fine,” he said, “there are two of you, but I’m fine.”

“Oh,” River said, smirking a bit as she straightened his collar. “The mind races.”

John started to grin, but even that hurt his face, which felt like it was about to split open. River ran a finger over his upper lip, and when she pulled it back he saw a bit of blood.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He was — er… saying things. Horrible things. About…”

“About?”

“About you,” John said, speaking to the ground.

“You started this?”

“I didn’t mean to!” he said. “I was just trying not to get involved and then he said — he said — well I won’t repeat it to you, because you’d kill me, probably but — the point is, he said it, and suddenly I was hitting him.”

“And then he was hitting you. Rather more effectively, I might add,” River said. He looked up at the sound of her voice, tense and angry, and saw that her expression matched.

“Are you cross that I got beat up?”

“I’m cross that you felt the need to defend my honor,” River said. “I can handle myself — people say horrible things every day. I don’t care. It’s also not really any of your business, is it? Not to mention the monumentally stupid and dangerous decision hitting him was — you know he’s captain of the wrestling team, right?”

“You’re honestly going to lecture me now? I’m bleeding, River.”

She leaned up to kiss him, and it hurt a bit — moving his face too much caused his head to pound, and he now knew his lip was split, and when she touched the side of his face and accidentally encountered the bruise around his eye, he winced — but it was definitely worth it, he thought.

“Thank you,” River said, pulling away. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

He smiled, about to lean forward and kiss her again when she slapped him.

“What on earth — ?!”

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger for me again, you idiot,” she said. Then, reaching out to grab his hand and tangle her fingers with his, she pulled him down the hall. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You’re giving me whiplash,” John said, blinking at her as she smiled at him.

“Come now, honey,” River said, “I didn’t slap you that hard.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: one character trying to turn the other on, succeeding, and then turning the other character off.

Most girls wore floor-length gowns to prom. Of course, he should’ve known that any fact that encompassed ‘most’ anything did not apply to River Song.  
She told him that she’d wear a gown to her prom, but this was the dance for his year, and it wasn’t so important — just a minor dance — and he’d agreed with her, but then she’d grinned devilishly, kissed his cheek, and disappeared, refusing to show him her dress after she’d bought it. She’d insisted on meeting him at the prom, too. She hadn’t wanted her parents to have two opportunities to photograph them, since they’d get an opportunity at her prom, and John hadn’t wanted River anywhere near his extremely conservative foster family, and so he arrived at the dance, tugging on his black, formal bow tie and then freezing halfway through the motion when he spotted her.

She was impossible to miss — she had students gathered around her like a court at the foot of their queen, and she stood with the utmost confidence, head high, eyes bright, hands on her hips. John didn’t think he’d ever get over just how gorgeous she was, and the way she looked for the dance put things way over the top.

Her dress was short and tight and black, hugging her curves in a way that made his mouth run dry, with a slight black overlay that extended out from her tiny waist and fell close to her body, making the bottom half of her dress look like a tulip. It was low cut, and although he’d become rather well acquainted with River’s extensive lingerie collection, he was bloody sure she’d never worn whatever bra she had on for him before, because yowzah. Her hair was intricately wrapped on top of her head, a few wild curls escaping from their confines, and her lips were painted an arresting red.

He may have somewhat derisively noted the students clamoring for her attention, but he’d have been lying through his teeth if he said his first impulse was not to throw himself at her feet.

She spotted him, favoring him with a wink, and he stumbled toward her, more aware than ever of the horrible way in which his limbs cooperated with one another. He practically fell into her arms as he reached her, immediately swooping in for a kiss, but she placed a finger to his lips to stop him. She clicked her tongue in reproach.

"Mind the lipstick, John," she said.

"For how long?" 

She laughed. “I’d rather keep it on all night — it’s part of my look, darling.”

"You can’t be serious," he said. She looked good enough to eat, and here she was, denying him so much as a taste. He must have looked pathetic, because she jutted out her lower lip in a mocking pout and turned her face from him, tapping her own cheek.

He sighed and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He didn’t back away from her though — he completely ignored the kids around her she’d been speaking to, lingering in her personal space and resting his hands on her hips as he looked down at her. She grinned.

"Like the dress?"

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her cheek again, then another time, then further back — he placed a trail of kisses over her cheekbone and then toward her ear, teasing her earlobe with his teeth. He felt goosebumps rise along her skin when he reached up to stroke her arm.

"I’d like it better off," he said, quietly, just so she could hear. She leaned further into him as though she could help it, a pleased little sound in the back of her throat as he kissed her neck. He did it again, this time with more teeth, and he felt her heartbeat skip where her chest pressed against his, but she pushed him away with a laugh and a shaky breath.

"You’re a handful tonight," she said. He started to respond but she cut him off. "No, that one was too easy, you don’t get points for bantering off of that."

He pouted. “It would’ve been a good one.”

"It would’ve been dreadful."

"Yeah," he said, "but funny."

"What a perfect summary of your sense of humor," she said. He pinched her sides where his hands rested, and she jumped away from him with a bit of a yelp. He grinned — he loved any moment where he could catch the always unflappable River Song off guard. "Come on, you idiot. Let’s dance."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him onto the dance floor. At first the music was light and bright, and the danced apart and played at it, grabbing hands and twirling, sometimes swaying together like they were going to waltz, John flailing his arms about over his head and River doubled over laughing — but somewhere along the way, as the night grew deeper, the music because faster and foggier, heavy bass and sultry crooning, and not-so-suddenly John found himself with his arms around River, his hands sliding between her hips and the tops of her thighs as she swayed to the beat of the music as the vibrations pounded up through the floor, slamming his heart against his ribcage. If he moved his hands just so they slipped just below the hem of her dress, and she reached her hands down to cover his own, encouraging him to hold her to him tighter, to flirt even more with the hem of her dress.

Her hips gyrated to the music, which would’ve been distracting enough, but he was finding it rather hard to breathe with the way her ass pressed back into his growing erection; he knew she felt it, and that only made her move faster against him, letting her head drop back to rest on his shoulder. He kissed her exposed neck and watched her smile, her eyes dark and soft as they met his. He leaned closer to her, his eyes dropping to her lips, but she shook her head.

"My lipstick, honey."

“Riv-er —”

"I’m not teasing," she said, "if you mess it up, I’ll murder you."

"You’re bluffing."

"Want to test it?"

He pressed his lips together in a tight line and refrained from responding. He really wanted to kiss her, though. Almost enough to brave her wrath, although he had the sneaking suspicion — based on her smug expression — that she was toying with him. Still, he kissed her nose instead, and then dropped his face to nuzzle into her shoulder, nipping slightly at the side of her neck. She hummed, circling her hips with greater intent against him, and he held her tighter, giving up on resisting the urge to thrust against her.

She reached a hand up behind her to bury her fingers in his hair tugging at it as he pushed his hips back into hers, and he was dimly aware that they were at a school event on a crowded dance floor chaperoned by teachers and parents, and at this point they were doing little more than drying humping to music, but she felt so good against him, and the soft sounds she made as he pressed his lips and teeth to her skin, or when his fingers brushed over the bare skin at her thighs kept him nice and reckless, just how she liked him.

"This is a game, isn’t it?" he said after a moment, his breath coming in short bursts as they continued to move against each other. River closed her eyes, digging her teeth into her lower lip as he teased his fingers fully beneath the hem of her dress.

"What’s that?"

"The lipstick," he said.

She smiled.

"You’re dangling a carrot in front of my face," he said.

"What a horrible metaphor,” she said, scraping her fingers along his scalp and rotating her hips in the opposite direction. He slid his hands a bit further beneath her dress, his thumbs stroking her inner thighs. He was cautious to keep it low enough that he could withdraw with minimal embarrassment for River — if she ever got embarrassed — but he was close enough to feel her warmth. “But yes.”

"You want to get me so worked up I can’t stand not to kiss you," he said, "and still deny me.”

"But won’t it be that much more satisfying later tonight," she murmured, her words hitching at the end as he slid one hand up further to stroke her over her knickers. He peered around them to make sure nobody was paying undue attention. Her hips jerked against him, but he held her fast, pressing back up against her ass and rubbing against her in time with the ministrations of his hand.

"I can tease you too, you know," he said.

"Oh," she said. "I know.”

Her head fell back on his shoulder again, and he watched her face as he moved his hand between her legs until she was biting her lower lip so hard he thought the lipstick might not stay anyway. He could feel the tremble in her thighs, and what was more, he could feel his own grip slipping as she writhed against him. He was going to come in his pants, barely touching her, just from the feel of her body against his, from the look on her face, from the little noises of pleasure that slipped from her — he bent his head and bit down on her neck to keep from making a sound, but kept going, because he didn’t care, it felt too good, and she was too lovely — and he knew how much she loved when she could tempt him to break his own conceptions of propriety, he knew she loved a little exhibitionism, and he knew that she was probably all the closer because of it. He wanted to kiss her, badly, but he knew she wouldn’t let him, and so he stopped near her mouth, meeting her dark gaze, and just breathed, feeling everything in his body going tight as she moved harder against him, little gasps passing between their mouths though they never touched, and he slid his fingers inside of her knickers, running them along her slick flesh, pressing one inside of her, and her eyelids fluttered — he could see and feel how close she was, and he knew if he twisted his hand just so and held her against him just right they’d both tip right over the edge, right here, on the dance floor, and god, he didn’t care, he just wanted it —

But then something caught his eye, and then River looked, and suddenly they both sprang apart as though they’d been doused by cold water.

John straightened his bowtie.

“Shit,” River said. “Talk about ruining the —”

"You didn’t tell me your father was chaperoning,” he hissed at River.

"I —" she cut herself off, tugging at her dress and looking delightfully unstable on her heels before she huffed an shaky sigh and rolled her eyes. "Well I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, was I? And get that smug look off of your face."

"Do you think he saw us?"

"Not well, no," River said.

"But we should…"

"Let’s go get some water," River said.

John nodded awkwardly, wondering if his brain would ever work properly around River Song, or if he was just destined to forever be an idiot in her presence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "you’re teasing me . “ ” why do you have clothes on? “ ” take. this. off. “ all of these! hs au!! stat!!

A pool party was like John’s personal idea of hell, plus flat soda, cold pizza, and dozens of fellow students — although he’d taken to internally referring to them as River’s admirers — John didn’t particularly like. There was water and there was sun and there was no way for him to wear his bow tie, or his watch, or his favorite boots, and he felt incredibly uncomfortable out of a button-up, and all he could think about was the probability of getting sun cancer depending on the angle of the sun and where he was standing.

His high school experience was slowly turning into a series of events River forced him to attend. He shouldn’t have liked it. He kind of did, a bit.

He was so caught up in being irritated that he was at this thing at all and separately from River to boot — she’d promised him she’d be there, a bit late, but he had to be on time, as if he was ever on time a day in his life, but of course River had told him to be there a full hour before he was meant to be and so even his ridiculous attempt at being late meant he was five minutes early. But he was so busy internally complaining that he didn’t even notice when River did arrive until she spoke.

"Why do you have clothes on?" she said, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she peered up at him. 

He jumped a full foot in the air, spilling his soda all over his hand. He glared at her as he ducked his head to lick some of it off, but he’d have to actually get in that filthy, people-filled pool if he was going to keep it from getting sticky. He huffed a sigh and dropped his arm to his side.

"Because we’re in public? What kind of question is that?”

“Ooh, so if we were in private you’d just walk around in your altogether constantly?” River said quickly, “sweetie, let’s buy a house.”

He snorted, ignoring her jibe. “Why wouldn’t I be wearing clothes? You’re wearing clothes.”

"I’m going to change in a minute. It’s a pool party," River said, rolling her eyes at him and stepping to the side. She set down a couple of hefty-looking shopping bags that John hadn’t noticed, pausing in their conversation to wave and blow kisses at a few of her admirers. Everyone was her admirer, he thought, a little crossly. It was infuriating. And endearing. "It’s essentially an invitation to get as naked as possible in a group setting."

"No, that’s an orgy," John said.

"Yes," River said, nodding earnestly. "It’s a high school pool party."

John sighed. “Well, there’s no alcohol, either. Just these rubbish non-fizzy fizzy drinks.”

"Of course there’s not," River said, "I’m supplying it."

John finally realized that what River was beginning to pull out of her bags was bottles and bottles of liquor. He narrowed his eyes at her, moving to stand closer to her as the other kids began to gather around. He found that the more open he was about invading River’s personal space in group settings, the less likely people were to horn in on them. Honestly, he might as well have been a grumpy old man, and River often told him as much, but he was just so alternately bored and irritated by everyone else, he just didn’t see the point in making small talk when he had River.

"You’re not of age," he said.

"Not nearly, no."

"Did you have someone buy it for you?"

"Not so much ‘someone’ as me," River said.

“River!”

"And not so much ‘buy’ as —"

John clapped his hands over his ears before she could finish. “I don’t want to know.”

River pressed a kiss to his cheek and set about fixing herself a drink as he chatted briefly to some kid in his history class, and as expected, a moment later River rescued him with a cup of his own. When he asked what it was, she just winked.

"Fun," she said.

He frowned at her. 

"Drink up, John," she said, then, yanking on his t-shirt, "and take this off."

"I don’t want to!"

"You show me yours, I’ll show you mine." River winked at him, clearly delighting in his slightly dropped jaw as she set her drink down on a table, freeing her hands to undo her shorts with a deliberate slowness that made John swallow.

"I forgot about bathing suits," he said.

"You’re wearing one," River said, sliding the shorts down her perfect legs and kicking them to the side. Her fingers played at the hem of her shirt.

"No, I know," he said, "I mean to say I forgot that you’d be wearing one too."

River smiled widely, crossing her arms over her front and pulling her shirt off in one fluid motion, and John licked his lips. She was wearing one of the smallest bikinis he had ever seen, not that he’d seen many bikinis, in a the deep, dimensional sort of blue that matched his car. Oh, but it looked much better on her. He didn’t know where to look first, but thankfully he didn’t really have to decide, because she stepped closer to him, pressing her lips briefly to his, and tugging at his shirt.

"Now," she said, "take. this. off."

"But —"

"No buts," she said, "take it off and we can go for a… dip." She pressed herself against him and reached a hand up to run her fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck and he sighed.

"You’re teasing me."

"Yes," she said, "is it working?"

He stepped back from her as he glared, pulling his shirt over his head. “I hate you.”

"You don’t."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: giving hickeys.

John tried a lot of things because River asked it of him — he was a bit embarrassed of the fact, truth be told, because he so prided himself on his independence, but River had the infuriating ability to make him reckless with the need to impress her. He’d gotten drunk, nearly arrested, and almost kicked out of school multiple times since he’d started dating River Song, and now she’d gone and gotten him high.

He wanted to tell her that she was hyper-manipulative, a little bit cruel, and should consider a career in politics, but all he managed to do was exhale a thin cloud of pungent smoke and let his head fall back on the couch.  
They were in someone’s basement — one of River’s friends, a first-year university student home on break called Jack Harkness who had the sort of good looks that made even John a bit jealous and a little bit grudgingly attracted, though he wouldn’t admit it, because Jack flirted as much as River and twice as indiscriminately, and because he wasn’t sure that he was up to whatever he was sure River would propose if she knew. Regardless, words weren’t big on his list of things he felt capable of accomplishing at the moment.

He let his arm drop to his side, his elbow feeling strangely tight as it dropped to the cushion as he offered the small, electric green glass bowl to River beside him. She took it with a smirk that he thought was a bit condescending, but he couldn’t quite tell, because his eyes were drooping more than a little. She reached across his lap to pry the lighter from his other hand, and John laughed a bit as her hair tickled his chin as she pulled back, and her smile widened as he dissolved into a series of giggles.

"Bit of a lightweight, isn’t he?" Jack asked from across the way, sitting cross legged on the floor and looking annoyingly like a designer clothing advertisement. John huffed.

"Not a lightweight," John grumbled, "we smoked — we hit a lot of — pot.”

River laughed brightly, and she and Jack exchanged a glance. “You certainly have the argot down.”

John huffed, about to snipe back at River, but she lifted the bowl to her lips and he suddenly became totally fixed on watching her focus as she looked down at her small, capable hands while she lit up and inhaled. He watched her shoulders rise, the way her chest rose with her deep breath, and then his eyes slid to her fingers as she slid her thumb from the hole and kept breathing in until the little ember died out completely.

She closed her eyes as she pulled the piece away from her lips, holding it in for a moment before she pursed her lips and exhaled the smoke in a serious of perfect o’s. He wasn’t sure he liked smoking weed — there was certainly something to be said for the oral fixation, but he didn’t ever really want to be slowed down. Still, his focus at the moment was a million times what it usually was. He felt mired in the moment, his eyes stuck to River, as though looking away would be too much energy, and his skin buzzed a bit below the surface. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy, a bit slow, a bit warm. He reached a hand out to rest on River’s bare knee, but he couldn’t just rest it there — he needed to move it. Her skin felt impossibly soft, and like it were buzzing too, a small electric current running over it. He run his hand up and down her leg as she leaned forward and passed the piece to Jack. 

When she sat back on the couch, she fell closer to him, her shoulder brushing his, and when his head felt too heavy and he had to rest his head against the backrest again, she did too, and her face was so close — he felt like he could see it in more detail, the swirl of every color in her eyes, the slight freckles and lines of her skin. When she smiled at him, it seemed to be in slow motion; he wished he could see all of her face at once, but she was so close, and he couldn’t get his eyes quite open, and so all he could see was pieces. He reached a hand out to run a finger over the bridge of her nose, and she let out an amused puff of air against his lips. He licked his lips, and they tasted deep and earthy and sweet. 

"I’m… going to go pack another bowl. Be back in a jiff," Jack said, but neither John nor River looked at him. "Keep all your clothes on. I’ll assume any nakedness upon my return is an invitation."

"What do you think, John?" River asked as Jack got up and started to walk away. "Shall we strip down and invite Jack?"

"What?" John said. Her words didn’t quite make sense, but he loved her voice. "I don’t know what you said. But it sounds nice." He reached out to tangle a hand in her hair, and she laughed again. John heard the click of the door as Jack left, and River sidled even closer to him. "I love your voice."

"Do you?" River said. 

"Yes," John said. "It’s all —" he tried to lift both hands to gesture approximating what he meant, but all he managed to do was flutter one at his side. His whole body felt as though it would float away, and his hand, now resting on her upper thigh beneath her skirt — he belatedly hoped it hadn’t been sitting there while Jack was across from them — felt heavy, as though she was the only thing keeping him from dissipating into the air.

River laughed again, and John beamed at the sound, closing his eyes. Then he felt River shift, and his hand on her leg slid around to rest on her hip beneath her dress as she maneuvered herself onto his lap, and suddenly that felt heavy too, heavy and burning hot as she shifted her weight against him, pressing down against him. He managed to open his eyes just in time to meet her halfway as she leaned down to kiss him, and that deep, earthy flavor that lingered on the air and scratched against his throat burst across his tongue as she opened her mouth to him. His throat was dry and burning, but she felt vital against him, her tongue rolling against his made him feel like his whole body would come apart — his skin buzzed more fiercely everywhere her body touched his. River always kissed as though it were a whole body experience, but now she moved even more, shifting all of her weight against him in a fluid roll of her hips against his, over and over against she kissed him. He didn’t know how much time passed — it could’ve been a year, he thought — before she pulled away, leaving him gasping for air and even more dry-mouthed than before as she began to kiss her way down his neck.

"I can’t believe you got me stoned," John said, ignoring how he bunched up her dress as he ran his hands up her back and down again, over and over. Her skin felt so good and warm, he couldn’t stop touching her for a second. 

"I can’t believe you got this stoned off of two hits," River said, biting at his pulse point. John moaned, digging his nails into her back and he felt even headier with the high-pitched noise she made at that. 

"It was more than that," John said.

"It wasn’t," River said, pausing to suck at the base of his throat, pressing her hips back down into his, and he could’ve cried for how good it all felt — his whole body felt light and heavy and hot and cold and humming with a borrowed energy, and his blood rushed in his ears, and her hands felt like little embers biting at his skin, and the smell of the weed that had so repulsed him at first now added to it all, as though he were in a different world. He pressed his hips back up into River, digging his fingers into her as she ground down against him, and she panted against the skin of his neck, dragging her teeth down the side of it. He let his hands roam up around her front, grabbing her breasts with both hands none too gently, rolling over them with the palms of his hands, and she stopped her progress on his neck to kiss him again fiercely, all tongue and teeth and needy sounds that shot straight through him.

He felt desperate to be joined with her, but he didn’t want sex — he just wanted to be bare and close and touching her with every part of his body, he wanted to run his hands over her bare skin and kiss her for hours and he was about to suggest that they get very naked very fast when the door opened again, and Jack’s loud catcall jolted him back to reality.

He paused, his hands still grasping River’s chest beneath her dress as she pulled away from him, and he let his head fall back again, closing his eyes and trying to imprint the image of River, leaning over him, her lips swollen red from kissing, her eyes hooded from the drugs and dark with desire, tasting like smoke and earth on his mind forever. She extricated herself from him and he didn’t even feel embarrassed about being caught by Jack.

"Can I consider that an invitation?" Jack said. John felt the couch shift as Jack settled onto it, and River slid off of John’s lap and into her sit between the boys. 

"Maybe another time," River said, "he’s basically incapacitated. He’d probably just fall asleep."

"I’m not…" John began, but didn’t finish the thought, because River was tugging on his shoulder, and John barely opened his eyes as River shoved him until he was resting his head against her shoulder and running her nails lightly over his scalp. He settled into her side, wrapping an arm around her body, and thought he felt her press her lips to his head, but that seemed like a very un-River thing to do, and he thought it was perhaps the drugs.

"I’ll hold you to it, Song," Jack said. 

John heard the click of the lighter against the glass piece, and smelled it all anew as Jack presumably lit up again. John snuggled closer to River.

"Hold me to anything you like," River said.

"Don’t tempt me," Jack said. 

John could hear River’s wink. John heard some shuffling around, and then the television burst to life with a crackle. He nearly drifted off to sleep as the first lines of dialogue from some dreadful kid’s show filtered into the room, cuddled into River’s side as she and Jack finished the next bowl and watched cartoons. He’d have been irritated with the cliché if he hadn’t been so comfortable. But then he heard a loud whoop of laughter, and sat upright, peeling his eyes open to see Jack grinning at him like the Cheshire cat.

"Hey, Doc," Jack said, and John narrowed his eyes a bit. He didn’t know why Jack insisted on the nickname, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t sure he liked anything about Jack, and at the same time, he kind of loved everything about Jack. "You might want to invest in some turtlenecks."

It wasn’t until three hours later when John was finally feeling sober again that he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and saw the number River had done on his neck. She claimed she’d been under the influence; he knew better.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt. 'i'm not taking no for an answer, so strip.' river eleven please. i just love the way you write or if you can spin it into your hs au even better.

She was a little drunk. Okay, not a little drunk — very drunk. That’s what high school was about, wasn’t it? And at any rate, River didn’t usually feel comfortable enough to drink much at all. Even though she’d carry around a drink at parties and switch it up at regular intervals to make it look like she was drinking constantly, she seldom passed the tipsy phase. There was just too much in her that said something could go wrong and the part of her that was always looking for a way out couldn’t stand to be hindered by too many beers.

With John, though, things were different. She trusted him in a way she trusted no one else. She loved him, and what was more rare, she believed he loved her, and that he would be on her side no matter what, and that he’d protect her at all costs.

Deep, heady thoughts to justify a few extra shots, but her upbringing left little room for taking risks without mile-long lists of contingencies.

They’d left the party early, walking back to River’s house at John’s insistence that they not drive, as they were a bit flushed and a little tipsy, and the walk to River’s place took nearly twice as long as it should have because they spent most of it laughing and falling against one another, pausing to snog against a tree and cop a feel against their math teacher’s car, and when they finally climbed in River’s window they were more sober yet more flushed.

River pulled him to her by the collar of his shirt, kissing him long and hard, and he melted into her easily, like he’d expected it. He probably had. Sometimes River took a moment to think about exactly how virginal John had been when they met, and compare it to how far to the other end of the spectrum he was now. Knowing she’d corrupted him was intoxicating. She pulled back, wiping a bit of lipstick from the corner of his lips, and he giggled at her.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

"Really?" River said, kicking off her shoes as she stepped back to fall gracefully onto her bed, propping herself up onto her elbows and crossing her legs. "Here’s a tip: I’m a sure thing, sweetie, you don’t need to try any creepy pick up lines."

He looked confused, and then, “that’s not what I meant! I meant an actual surprise.”

She raised a brow. He rubbed his hands together giddily, and then with a grin reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a small bottle of rum. River laughed delightedly.

"You stole it?!"

“Borrowed,” John said.

River smirked.

"Alright, fine, I stole it," he said. "But no one’ll notice anyway, they were far too drunk, and I knew you’d love it if I did and so… ta-da?"

He jumped onto the bed beside her, kicked his shoes off over the edge and handing her the bottle. All of her earlier calculations about how much she could drink without impairing her ability to do anything she might need to do were settled, and alone in her home with her parents whom she loved and mostly trusted, and John whom was just shy of everything, she smiled wider, uncapped the rum, and took a long, healthy drink of it. It burned down her throat and tweaked at her palette, but she didn’t even wince as she handed it back to John. She remembered how he’d fussed over the beer that first party she’d taken him to — now he took the bottle without hesitation, although he still looked like he’d swallowed a porcupine as he took a modest sip before passing it back.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that," he said. "It tastes like gasoline."

"It’s not that bad," River said with a roll of her eyes, "anyway, let’s play a game."

He looked both intrigued and slightly wary. “A game?”

"Yep," she said, "truth or dare."

"Oh," John said, "I liked this game last time."

"I know you did." She winked.

Their game went on for the better part of two hours, until the small bottle of rum had disappeared between them and they both were clumsy-tongued and glassy-eyed. Most of the game was a series of silly truths interspersed with one daring the other to kiss them every so often when it seemed like they’d gone too long without doing so. John’s bowtie was tied around his head, his shirt partly unbuttoned, and his socks were hanging from the ceiling fan in the living room. He stood in the center of her room, talking animatedly about one thing or another, swaying from side to side even more than usual, carving his words in the air with those large hands she so loved, his hair sticking up around the bowtie, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his feet bare — watching him like that, at that moment, she loved him so much that it almost physically hurt her. Her heart felt like it was going to burst — so many words that she wanted to say but couldn’t quite articulate swam through her mind, and he seemed to realize, because he stopped, looking bemused and waving a hand in front of her face.

"Alright?" he said.

"Alright," she said, shaking her head and blaming her sentimentality on the rum. "I have a dare for you."

"S’not your turn!"

"S’my turn if I say it is," she said, "my house, my rules."

"My rum," he said.

"Y’stole it!” she said.

"Quite right," he agreed, waving his hands about, "carry on."

"I dare you to strip."

"Come again?"

"Strip," she said, "I’m not taking no for an answer, so strip."

He looked defiant, and then amused, and then annoyed, and the amused again, and finally he shrugged. Adopting what he probably thought was a seductive expression, but really just looked entirely absurd, he waggled his brows at her and tugged the bowtie off of his head, flinging it across the room at her. She caught it with a laugh.

He seemed emboldened by her laugh, and then suddenly he was into it — flailing around like some kind of awful, leggy baby animal, swiveling his hips in the least sexual way one could possibly do anything with their hips, waggling his brows at her and running a finger down his chest as he bared it, button by button. River tried to stop herself from laughing, but she couldn’t. He threw his shirt at her too, pausing first to spin it over his head.

"Your wish is my command, River Song," he said.

"Oh god," she snorted as he started on his trousers, thrusting his hips absurdly as he pulled them down. "You’re so drunk.”

"So’re you!" he said. 

"Yes but this — oh, sweetie, this is the worst strip tease I’ve ever seen.”

He paused, his trousers in hand. “Y’seen many strip teases?”

She raised a brow. “Wouldn’t you want to know.”

He threw his trousers at her and she laughed brightly, although her amusement dimmed somewhat as he hooked his thumb in the elastic of his pants and pulled them down. Those he didn’t throw at her, instead tossing up in the air so that they caught on her ceiling fan and dangled down. She laughed, but she had to appreciate the sight of her now naked boyfriend in front of her.

He leaped onto the bed with her, and she barely suppressed a shriek as he laid her back and held himself over her, bending his head to press a quick kiss to her nose.

"That was bloody awful,” she said, beaming at him.

"Couldn’t have been that bad," he said.

"How d’you figure?"

"Got me into bed with you, yeah?"

She grabbed a pillow from beside her and hit him in the head with it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sexting

River lived to torture John. Honestly, she thought it might very well have been her raison d’être — doing anything that would make him squirm or blush or stammer or wag his finger in her face like an old man. Sometimes, if she pressed just the right buttons, he would even get angry, which was delightful. They’d never had a proper fight, not yet, but every once in a while she could get him so flustered and embarrassed and irritated that he’d get properly mad, and she sort of loved that most of all. Those silly, petty fights that she semi-intentionally provoked often ended in rough shags against unexpected surfaces, and River loved that, too. The longer they dated, though, the harder it got to fluster him. It used to be that resting her hand on his thigh under the lunch table made him go scarlet — now, she could all but shove her hand down his trousers and receive little but a glare, and sometimes even reciprocation.

She loved that she’d corrupted him so completely, but it did mean she had to get more creative with ways of getting his goat.

They were in a school assembly — some dreadful spiel about safe sex that River would rather have knitted with her own intestines than sat through — when she took out her phone and decided on her next plan of attack. John was a row in front of her, a few seats to the side, but he was always aware of her, like she was always aware of him. Sometimes it scared her, a bit, how she just knew when he was around, like he had some sort of gravitational pull for her, but she tried not to think about it too much. Dimming her screen so as not to catch the attention of the teachers, she typed up a quick text.

_What are you wearing? x_

She watched John jump a bit as his phone buzzed, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched him read the text, and then shoot her a quick, quizzical glance before turning forward again. Her phone buzzed.

_I’m a yard from you. Have you gone blind?_

She snorted.

_No, that’s just how you’re supposed to start these things. What are you wearing? Then you tell me, and ask me what I’m wearing._

She watched him read it, but before he could respond, she sent another: _I’ll tell you what I’m not wearing…_

In front of her, John stopped typing, and she saw him sit up a bit straighter, tugging at his hair a bit, his fingers hovering over his phone as though he couldn’t come up with a response.

 _Knickers, sweetie,_ she typed. 

_I figured,_ he sent back instantly. _Rather love that you’re pointing that out at a sex ed assembly._

 _We’re meant to learn about sex, aren’t we?_ River answered, _so let’s talk about sex. If you were sitting next to me, what would you do to me?_

She swallowed her laughter as he immediately whipped around to look at her, shocked, after he read her text. He looked back to his phone, and then around at her again, and she just smirked. When he finally stopped and faced front again, she was mildly concerned he’d tug out his hair altogether with the amount of times he ran his hand through it. She took pity on him — or not, depending on how one looked at it.

 _It’s dark enough that you could reach a hand under my skirt without anyone noticing. I’m picturing how your hand would look between my legs now, how your fingers would feel as you opened me up_.

She sent it, and grinned when he let out a squeak, clumsily disguised as a cough.

 _River,_ he sent back, then a pause before: _jesus christ._

Didn’t tell her to stop, then. She typed back quickly: _I’d nearly bite through my lip trying not to make noise as you fucked me right here, in between all of our classmates, with your fingers. You know how I love that._

She watched his shoulders shift as he uncrossed his legs in front of her, watched his body tremble slightly as he exhaled deeply. Her phone buzzed. 

_I do know. My bad, bad girl. I wouldn’t go easy on you, either. Hard and fast, my thumb on your clit, my fingers buried in you. You’d come in a minute if I was sitting next to you._

Oh, now, she thought, frowning to herself and trying to ignore the smug look he shot over his shoulder at her as she hesitated in responding. She’d gotten him a bit flustered but his learning curve was increasingly steep. She squeezed her thighs together and cursed him for being a quick study. Sighing, she responded.

_I might do anyway._

His answer was lightning fast: _touch yourself._ Then another: _now._

River took a deep breath, biting her lip and weighing her options — she wasn’t shy about her exhibitionist leanings, but there was something different about touching herself here, as opposed to him doing it. If they got caught, she found it mostly funny. If it was just her, well. She was about as shameless as anyone could hope to be, but that was a bit too mortifying, even for her.

She let a hand fall to rest on her thigh, and even as she considered, she slowly trailed it up her leg until her fingers disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt. Her phone buzzed again.

 _Are you touching yourself?_

She didn’t respond, but he cast a glance over his shoulder and she bit her lip, nodding slightly and sliding her hand up even further. Her breath felt in short supply; she sat as still as possible, her eyes darting between the students on either side of her, back to John, back to her phone when it buzzed again.

_Tell me what you’re doing._

Her fingers brushed over the soft skin of her inner thigh as she trailed them higher. She got another text message.

_I wish I could watch you. I wish I could hear you. No one but you makes me this_

She paused, confused, and looked up when she heard a loud yelp and a few startled gasps. Even the speaker hesitated, but carried on — their science teacher had grabbed John’s phone out of his hand and was staring at the screen with a mixture of shock and disgust, and River watched John sink low into his seat, and she knew his face would be a delightful shade of cranberry.

Withdrawing her hand and smiling, she sent one more text: _how long have we got detention this time, sir? xxxx_


End file.
